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Chapter 303
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 09:51:54 +0000 UTCMeanwhile, under the thunderous roar of the raging waterfall, its mist cascading in an ethereal veil, the secluded path leading down from the Kunlun highlands stood eerily unguarded.
Not a single figure clashed or patrolled the secluded route this time, leaving only three furtive shadows to glide silently through the verdant bamboo forest in the crisp morning air.
They moved with the fluidity of phantoms, bodies synced in purposeful motions to avoid drawing any unwaiting eyes.
The dappled sunlight filtering through the bamboo canopy briefly revealed their white martial robes trimmed with dark crimson stripes before the shadows swallowed their forms once more. The thunderous crash of the waterfall masked the hurried cadence of their light footsteps.
"It's exactly as Junior Brother Ji described, Sister Su," a sudden voice called out, shattering the quiet like a pebble piercing a still pond. The three trespassers froze, spines stiffening in alarm at having been detected.
"Why are you surprised? Ever since he showed his actual strength, I've stopped feeling shock altogether," another voice resounded, feminine yet razor-sharp, reverberating through the bamboo grove with a self-assured calm.
Instantly, the three concealed figures emerged from the embrace of the shadows, realizing their covers had been blown. Their eyes widened as they took in the scene before them.
"Well, isn't this a surprise? A reunion with our Former Fellow Martial Brothers," came a cold, clipped voice dripping with derision.
The speaker was none other than Wei Xun, perching with effortless grace atop the slender tip of an arched bamboo tree. Beside her stood Su Xinyi, her piercing eyes fixed with hawkish intensity on the trio of traitors, two of them garbed in the Inner Disciple martial robes, their once-familiar faces now seeming like strangers'.
A third figure, Yu Lei - the last disciple of the Elder Qiao - flanked Wei Xun and Su Xinyi's side. His long, disheveled raven hair fluttered untamed in the gentle breeze, a solitary strand falling rakishly over his face, partially obscuring his distinctive appearance.
The pale white pupil of his uncovered eye, crossed by an old faded scar, signaled his blindness. Yet he stood balanced and resolute atop the bamboo, his sightless gaze seeming to pierce straight through the traitors with an eerie clarity that belied his lack of vision.
"Brothers, I didn't expect it to be you after all," Yu Lei spoke, his tone devoid of inflection though his sightless gaze betrayed a profound sadness and disappointment simmering beneath his indifferent facade.
Despite the turmoil evident in one of his milky eyes, his face remained an inscrutable mask, tight lips set in a lazy, almost bored expression - as if dealing with these traitors was more trouble than it was worth.
"Elder Qiao's disciples...what a delightful surprise," one of these rats replied with a mocking lilt, his voice like poisoned honey.
His long raven hair was tied into a sleek ponytail, framing a finely sculpted face that might have appeared gentle - scholarly, even - were it not for the sinister smirk curling across his lips with undisguised malice. His narrow eyes glinted with an unsettling sharpness.
"Did Elder Qiao know about this treachery? Or how long have you been, spying on us?" another one of the traitors chimed in, unable to contain the venom lacing his words.
This one was shorter than the rest, embodying the image of a reclusive scholar with his bookish glasses and meticulous appearance. Typically found in Kunlun's Thousand Pavilion, he was the type of disciple who believed more in theory than in practice.
"Do you really think just the three of you are enough to stop us?" the third man sneered derisively. Unlike his traitorous counterparts, he wasn't garbed in the Inner Disciple's white and crimson robes. Instead, he wore a unique yet unfamiliar black silk tunic accented by sharp scarlet stripes.
"Oh? And do you think we're foolish enough to face you alone?" Su Xinyi responded coolly, her steely demeanor unshaken as her piercing eyes glinted with contempt.
She glanced almost imperceptibly to the side, and in the very next moment, countless disciples - scores of Inner Disciples clad in crisp white martial uniforms - emerged seamlessly from the surrounding bamboo forest like wisps of smoke coalescing into corporeal form.
They moved with eerie, practiced silence, encircling the three stunned traitors completely, ensuring there was no path for escape.
...
Meanwhile, at the Lower Levels of Kunlun's ground, chaos reigned as unorthodox martial artists poured relentlessly into the region.
Battles raged across the area, the sounds of clashing blades and splintering wood echoing through the air as the invaders ascended from the Kunlun Qiuxiu village below.
They swarmed through the ornate paifang gates in crashing waves, advancing deeper into the grounds of the sect's domain with each passing moment despite the stalwart resistance.
Corpses of both Kunlun's fallen disciples and the unorthodox invaders littered the bloodstained ground. Amidst the visceral carnage, Ji Wuye stood like an unshakable pillar, his intense focus unwavering despite the chaos swirling around him - until something unusual finally managed to capture his full, undivided attention.
"NOW!" a loud, grating cry erupted, sharp and deafening as it carried the undeniable force of a battle command. It came from the parched lips of a unorthodox martial artist, yet it felt like anything but a simple order.
At that very moment, as though acting with seamless coordination, the unorthodox martial artists abruptly disengaged from their clashes with the Kunlun disciples in eerie unison.
Before anyone could react, they withdrew from the fray and revealed strange, ominous purple orbs clutched tightly in their calloused hands.
POP!
In the span of a mere eye blink, the sinister purple spheres slammed in rapid succession onto the hard-packed earth, immediately rupturing as they released noxious clouds of thick, billowing purple smoke.
The toxic haze rapidly engulfed the entire Lower Level of Kunlun, shrouding the once-chaotic battlefield in a dense, choking miasma.
"Ugh! P-Poison! Poison!" a young Kunlun Outer Disciple's panicked shouts rang out, his adolescent voice strained as the toxic fumes seared his lungs.
His stark white martial robe with aqua trim stood out in jarring contrast against his rapidly paling, sickly skin as the insidious venom began its assault, each shallow, wheezing breath more labored than the last.
"Hmph! Mere tricks and deceit!" one of the Elders from the righteous factions scoffed derisively, raising his jian high in disdain. With a decisive, controlled slash, he unleashed an arcing wave of pure Qi meant to disperse the menacing purple fog smothering the battlefield.
Other Elders swiftly followed his lead, slicing through the gaseous miasma with precise, calculated bursts of their Qi in a concerted effort to drive the unnatural, poisonous cloud from the Mountain's hallowed territory.
However...
SWOOSH!
Instead of dissipating under the Elders' barrage of Qi strikes, the unnatural purple cloud seemed to drink in the remnants of Qi like a virulent parasite.
It surged and thickened with alarming speed, the noxious haze enveloping the area in an ever-expanding, insatiable tide.
The more the Qi lashed out in an attempt to banish it, the more the poisonous miasma grew, swelling greedily as if being directly fed by the very forces meant to dispel it. Witnessing this unnatural aberration, the Elders' initially derisive expressions morphed into grim frowns of trepidation.
Unlike the majority of the Kunlun disciples present - most of whom were merely Outer or Official Disciples of Kunlun below the 6th realm - these Elders were capable of holding their breath for hours on end if necessary, they should have been more than equipped to endure this strange poisonous offense.
Yet, the unusual parasitic response of the tenacious miasma to their Qi caused even these Elders to regard it with burgeoning wariness.
"It thickens the more it touches our Qi," one Elder observed. His sharp obsidian eyes, tracked the roiling currents of the malignant smoke intently as they grew exponentially denser with every errant trace of Qi inadvertently released into the air.
"It's almost...sentient in how it thrives when exposed to our Qi. As if it doesn't merely exist, but actively leeches spiritual force to propagate itself."
He cautiously tested his unsettling theory, emitting a faint gossamer shroud of his own Qi around his body as a protective spiritual barrier.
To his dismay, the ethereal mist hungrily latched onto the faint bluish Qi like a tendril, rapidly growing thicker and more suffocating in response as it seemingly fed.
"Everyone, cease using your Qi at once!" the Elder barked out the urgent order, his powerful voice cutting through the chaos to reach the struggling Kunlun disciples in the area. He moved, already rushing to assist those most affected by the encroaching venom.
CLANK!
No sooner had he raised his voice in warning than an eerily silent ambush attempted to strike from the obscuring shadows.
A swift blade, aiming to slip past his defenses from behind, was intercepted almost effortlessly. The Elder's weapon moved in a practiced arc, its wicked edge halted with precise and contemptuous ease.
One of the unorthodox martial artists who had somehow managed to inhale the same toxic essence emerged with a manic grin twisting his features. Yet curiously, the miasma didn't appear to affect him at all.
"Eheh! Can't...breathe, can you?" the unorthodox martial artist taunted smugly through his manic grin, seeming to revel in the Kunlun disciples' labored wheezing and paling skin. "How does it fee—"
His gloating taunt was abruptly cut short as the Elder slashed his jian in a blur of controlled motion, the razor-sharp edge splitting the air with a hiss before laying open a deep, punishing wound across the attacker's torso. Even without the use of Qi, a martial artist at the 8th realm was easily ten times the force of an ordinary human.
"It parasitically leeches Qi as fuel to propagate itself further," another Elder's measured voice rang out.
Then, the space around him seemed to tremble under the sudden weight of his focused Qi, the very air thickening as verdant tendrils of condensed Qi swirled inward toward his body like a localised vortex.
With a steady grip reinforcing his jian, he activated his Sword Zone. For a fleeting instant, the jian shimmered with a radiant inner light, the atmosphere around him visibly distorting under the immense pressure of his spiritual might.
Yet the very next moment, all of it - the flickering radiance along the sword's edge, the coalescing cyclone of Qi, the warping visual distortion of his Sword Zone's effects - was utterly consumed and subsumed by the ravenous purple miasma.
The sinister fog greedily devoured and leeched every last mote of Qi into itself, thickening further as it gorged like an insatiable beast on the proffered bounty.
"The moment we unleash our Qi into this poisonous haze, we feed it directly," the Elder stated grimly, his voice low yet composed even in the face of this troubling discovery.
"The stronger the martial technique employed, the more Qi it parasitically consumes to fuel its spread. And yet...it persistently clings to the air, steadfastly refusing to naturally disperse no matter what we attempt."
While analyzing the situation, the Elders simultaneously moved tirelessly, gathering the scattered Kunlun disciples.
Several pale, sickly disciples were carefully carried or supported out of the affected zone by their more resilient peers, harsh coughs wracking their slight frames as they frantically gulped down precious clean air.
Meanwhile, another Elder stepped forward into the center of the chaotic battlefield, observing this thick of poison.
"Ordinarily, martial arts would help solve problem like this," he began, casting his stony gaze across the roiling currents of poisonous smoke. "Yet here, our greatest strengths become a double-edged sword."
He hesitated momentarily, "What if the solution is not to try overpowering this poison through brute force, but instead to align our flows with its nature? To move in harmony with its currents rather than fruitlessly resisting them head-on?"
And then - without the slightest warning - the entire battlefield shifted in an instant.
The oppressive, thick purple mist that had blanketed everything in a toxic shroud began swirling violently, the roiling currents drawn irresistibly toward a singular, unnatural focal point. All eyes turned in alarm toward the epicenter of this disturbance, weapons raised in readiness.
The dense fog, like a towering tsunami being inexorably dragged into the maw of a vast vortex, rapidly condensed into a spiraling, cyclonic column of noxious energy. Yet at its core stood the slender, unwavering figure of a young woman, her stance resolute as she smoothly transitioned through a series of deceptively simple yet immensely powerful sword forms.
Her blade seemed to carve upwards through the air itself, trailing behind it a powerful kinetic flow that inexplicably commanded and bent the toxic mist to her will in defiance of its malignant nature.
"Pulse of the Blade: Second Move, Rising Gale!"
